I changed my mind late last week, after being surrounded with all things creative..and the breathing and pumping of the way this city breathes..everything in it exists because the whole exists…I tend to think of it as a circulatory system..and it’s not my time to go…I found passion wrapped in a package labeled for another time…and I can’t complain…or regret…I just want it in me, around me, and being me all of the time…but I can just sit and dream of things I can touch…la la la la la

no but everything is connected by fine strings
which sometimes can be made of flesh
the tearing of the striations into small blocks of days
ending in infinite
sometimes the way you feel is so unique and generic


hoping that the adoration and amazement won’t turn into a
small twisted knot of sticky stuff
my time is endless
compounded scary by little broken things

body touch has me craving that climax
elevated and circumvented through the blood under your skin
the only time is now
the only future is yesterday
my only past is the present
moments slipping while my mind keeps tripping
over that small hump
which is but this moment…